


Processed

by cowboyguy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sick Sam Winchester, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 00:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/pseuds/cowboyguy
Summary: That's the first -- and last -- time Sam eats sushi from a gas mart.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	Processed

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for the [November 2nd comment meme](https://ohsam.livejournal.com/953184.html) at OhSam on LiveJournal.

The door of the Impala squeaks as Dean climbs in, startling Sam awake. Jerking up from where he’d been slumped in the passenger seat, he rubs his eyes and yawns, mumbling, “..’Timezzit?”

The sky has gone mostly dark, just a hint of purple and orange sunset left near the horizon, and the gas station parking lot is illuminated with the bright glare of streetlights.

“Just after eight,” Dean says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “You fell asleep somewhere near the Ohio border, and I didn’t want to wake you. Stopped for gas and grabbed us some dinner.”

He reaches forward, putting the key in the ignition and backing out of the parking lot.

Slightly more awake now, Sam pushes himself upright in the seat, adjusting the seat belt digging into his stomach. He stretches, reaching his arms out toward the dash, trying to work out the kinks that come with falling asleep in awkward positions. “So,” he says, looking over at Dean. “You said something about food?”

“Yeah.” Dean reaches down to the grocery bag on the bench seat between them, rustling the plastic as he digs through it. He pulls out a rectangular plastic container and hands it over. “That’s for you.”

Sam looks down at the container. Nestled inside are two gas station hot dogs that look like they’ve probably been rotating on the hot dog warmer for at least a week. Sam grimaces down at them. “I’m… not eating these.”

After merging back onto the highway, Dean glances over for a second at the container in Sam’s hands. “Oh, no, dude. Those are mine.” He grabs for the box, setting it down on his lap and reaching back into the bag. After a moment, he comes up with another similar-looking container. “Got this for you.”

“Has it been processed until it’s inedible?” Sam asks as he takes the container from his brother. As they pass under a streetlight, Sam gets a glance inside. It’s not hot dogs, or nachos, or questionable Tex-Mex/Asian fusion eggrolls. In fact, it’s a container of sushi.

“Yeah, it’s probably been processed to death, too, but I figured you’d like that better than their other stuff,” Dean explains, popping open the lid of his container with one hand and grabbing one of the hot dogs. He takes a bite and then adds, around a mouthful of bread and meat, “That okay?”

Sam looks dubiously down at the sushi through the clear plastic lid, but it actually doesn’t look that bad. Probably came from the “fresh” section of the gas mart, next to the prepackaged sandwiches and chef salads, and the little cups of yogurt parfait. He sighs, considering it, because there aren’t a lot of other options. He knows Dean’s not going to want to pull over at every exit on the highway to look for fast food places, and they’ve still got another few hours to go before they reach their destination. Besides, he  _ is _ starting to get hungry.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Sam answers, popping one corner of the lid open. He pulls a piece out of the container and takes a cautious bite. It’s… surprisingly not terrible.

* * *

An hour later, they’re still driving down I-70, and the sushi is sitting less well in Sam’s stomach than it had at first. Looking out the window at the streetlights and the semi trucks zooming past had started to make him a little nauseated, so he’s staring down at his knees, taking careful breaths through his nose and trying not to think about how he feels.

Next to him, Dean is focused on the road, singing along with the radio under his breath. The open food containers lay empty on the seat between them, and Sam can somehow still smell the lingering scent of hot dog even though his brother has long since devoured them both. He considers trying to close up the containers, but the idea of moving at all right now is less than pleasant.

He closes his eyes, hands clutching the edge of the seat, and tries to breathe through a particularly intense cramp in his stomach. And he must whimper or something, because all of a sudden he hears Dean’s voice.

“Sammy? You okay?” He sounds concerned, and Sam bets that if he could manage to open his eyes, he’d see Dean turned towards him, eyes flickering back and forth between the road in front of him and his brother at his side.

Sam groans a little under his breath, shaking his head minutely. “Feel sick…” he mumbles, gulping down the saliva that’s started to pool in his mouth.

Beside him, he hears Dean saying, “Okay… okay, hang on…”, and he feels the car shift as Dean changes lanes. “I’m gonna pull over as soon as I can, okay?”

Sam cracks his eyelids open, risking a glance out the windshield. To either side of them on the stretch of three-lane highway are jersey walls, construction equipment and torn-up earth scattered behind them. Sam groans again, keeping his mouth shut, and presses one hand gently to his stomach as if that will do anything to stop the rising nausea.

The Impala speeds up as Dean tries to get past the construction zone as quickly as possible.

“Just hang on, buddy. We’re almost there,” Dean says.

Sam feels goosebumps rise all over his body as his stomach gives an ominous rumble. His breathing is starting to get faster, and he tries to hold off the inevitable for just a little while longer.

Finally, the jersey walls stop and the shoulder of the road opens up into gravel and grass. Dean puts on his blinker and slows down, swerving to the side of the road with a sickening lurch.

Sam feels nausea surge up his throat and he nearly chokes on his own breath, fumbling until his hand hits one of the empty plastic containers from an hour earlier. He gets it into his hands just in time to lean forward and heave into it, coughing up his partially digested dinner.

“Oh jeez,” Dean says at his side, and the car lurches as Dean hits the brakes and slams the gearshift into park. “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay.”

Sam’s too busy hyperventilating through his nose, clutching the plastic container and trying not to retch again. All of a sudden there’s the squeak of a door and Dean’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the passenger side and onto the shoulder of the road. Sam stumbles upright and away from the car, dropping the food container and doubling over as he heaves again, vomit splattering against the gravel. The only thing that keeps him from tumbling to the ground is Dean’s grip on him, one hand pressed against his chest and the other clutching the back of Sam’s jacket.

“Let it out, buddy, you’ll be alright,” Dean’s reassuring voice says in his ear over the rush of cars driving by, and Sam coughs and heaves again, moaning pathetically as his stomach twists painfully.

“Dean--” he gasps.

“I’m right here,” Dean says, rubbing his chest. “Right here. Breathe, Sammy.”

Tears spring to Sam’s eyes as he coughs again, breath hitching as he tries to get control of his stomach. He hangs tightly onto Dean, legs feeling wobbly, his hair falling into his eyes in the night’s cool breeze.

“There you go…it’s alright, dude...” Dean murmurs, brushing Sam’s hair back from his forehead. “You wanna sit?” he asks.

Sam nods, and with Dean’s help, manages to stagger back to the car, landing heavily on the passenger seat. He leans forward, head nearly between his knees as he gasps for breath, the nausea starting to ease to a dull ache. Dean reaches forward and rubs his back, and Sam sighs gratefully.

“How ‘bout I find a motel nearby, huh?” Dean asks. “You think you could handle the car again?”

Carefully, Sam nods, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah…”

* * *

As Dean opens the door to the motel room, Sam staggers in after him, making a beeline for the first bed and gingerly sitting down on the side of it, curling his legs up and easing himself down to the pillow until he’s horizontal, lying motionless on top of the blankets. He sighs in relief, because even if the bed is lumpy and uncomfortable, it’s still worlds better than being upright.

“God, you look pathetic,” Dean comments, dumping their bags on top of the low dresser. “How’re you feeling?”

Sam hums a wordless sound, closing his eyes. Now that he’s lying down, exhaustion is quickly sweeping over him, and his whole body feels heavy. “Mmm’tired...” he mumbles.

“How’s your stomach?”

Sam considers the question for a moment, then peers up at Dean, blinking slowly. “Still a little wonky…”

“Better than it was, though?”

“Yeah, think so,” Sam replies as he watches Dean move to the foot of Sam’s bed. He leans foward, untying Sam’s shoelaces and gently pulling them off his brother’s feet, tossing them into the corner. “Thanks,” Sam murmurs.

Dean ambles across the room, grabbing the trashcan from the bathroom and carrying it over to Sam, placing it on the floor near the head of his bed. “Just in case,” Dean explains.

Sam closes his eyes, breathing out carefully. “I’m never doing that again,” Sam mumbles.

Dean chuckles softly. “Yeah, me neither,” he says, and Sam quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “I learned my lesson. Next time I’m getting you a hot dog.”

Sam groans, pressing his face into the bed. “Ugh, Dean…” he grumbles. He reaches blindly out behind him until his hand closes on the extra pillow and tosses it in the general direction of his brother’s face.

He hears Dean swat the pillow away, and it lands on the ground with a soft  _ thump _ , but now that he’s closed his eyes, it’s almost impossible to open them again. “I’mma get some sleep…” he mumbles into his one remaining pillow.

“You do that, Sammy,” Dean responds. There’s a rustling noise, and then Sam feels the blanket being pulled up over his still fully-clothed body, tucked over his chest and around his legs. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”


End file.
